by Diana Cosby
Blast it, he’d hoped by the time they started their climb the wind would have died down. Nor was he pleased by the clearing skies. However dangerous, the falling snow would have shielded their movements as they scaled the break in the cliff.
“Lathir,” Rónán said. “When the guards begin the climb, stay between them.”
She hesitated.
“If there is trouble and we need to move quickly,” Rónán said, “’tis best if you are ahead, where you could help offer protection.”
“A solid plan,” Craigshyre said.
“How do you fare, Father?”
“I am well enough,” Lord Sionn forced out. “Dinna worry.”
Well enough? Rónán remained silent. Several times during their journey to the exit, the earl had stumbled and nearly fallen. That however slow he was able to walk with their aid was imperative. With the steep climb ahead of them, one littered with danger, God help them if he fainted.
“Let us go.” Lowering his head against the blast of icy wind, Rónán and Craigshyre helped Lord Sionn out of the tunnel. While he leaned upon Lathir’s betrothed, Rónán sealed the secret passage, then they started after the knights making their way to the steep trail.
Against the slap of the cold, Rónán kept his movements precise as they climbed, each step achieved against the noble’s injuries and weakened state a victory.
Paces from the top, the man collapsed.
Rónán caught him. “Lord Sionn.”
Gasping for air, his body began to shudder. “Blast it.” He struggled and finally stood.
“What is wrong?” Lathir called back, her voice fragmented on an icy gust.
“Keep going,” Craigshyre called.
She hesitated a moment, then continued.
Rónán kept his grip firm on the lord’s shoulder. “Do you need to rest?”
“Nay,” he forced out.
“Lord Sionn,” Craigshyre said, “I am going to climb to the next ledge. Once there, Sir Rónán will help you while I pull you up.”
“Aye,” he forced out, pain raw in his voice.
In the silvery light, his steps taken with care, Lathir’s betrothed moved onto the jutting rock. Breath coming fast, Craigshyre lay on his stomach, reached down. “Take my hand.”
Body trembling, Lord Sionn reached up.
A bell tolled from Murchadh Castle.
“Lord Sionn has escaped!” a deep voice from the wall walk boomed. “Raise the gates!”
Clanks of the heavy forged steel rattled into the night.
Panic slammed Rónán. God’s truth, the guards were leaving the stronghold!
Chapter Fourteen
The distant shouts of men and the clatter of hooves rang out from Murchadh Castle. With Lord Sionn’s unconscious body slumped against him, and the sky flooded with moonlight, Rónán glared at the knights riding from the castle. God’s truth! Though the icy, winding path would slow the guard, they had to get Lord Sionn to safety before the enemy reached the top.
Rónán gave the noble a firm shake. “Lord Sionn, wake up!”
On a groan, his eyes flickered open.
“The Earl of Ardgar’s men are coming,” Rónán snapped. “We must hurry.”
Teetering, the noble lodged his foot against a rock jutting out, pushed.
Thank God!
Feet braced on the snow-covered ledge above, Craigshyre reached down, caught the noble’s hands. Teeth clenched, he lifted Lord Sionn as Rónán aided him up the slick, makeshift steps.
The whinny of a horse had Rónán glancing over.
From the top of the cliff a short distance above, Lathir peered over the edge. “Father, thank God you are here!”
Relief flickered on Lord Sionn’s face as he raised his eyes. “Lathir.” He started to slump.
Rónán tightened his hold.
Strain lining her face, she moved from sight. Seconds later she reappeared, a rope clutched in her fist and several knights at her side. She tossed down most of the line. “Tie this around my father’s waist, then we will lift him out.”
Wind-tossed snow hurled past as Rónán helped Lord Sionn secure the woven hemp. He met the noble’s pain-filled gaze. “As you are pulled up, I am going to climb out alongside you.”
The noble sucked in a steadying breath. “Aye.”
Once Rónán had shifted into position, he noted that Craigshyre had joined her. He nodded to Lathir. “Pull!”
The line grew taut. Lord Sionn’s face paled, but thankfully, he didn’t faint.
At the top, tears in her eyes, Lathir hugged her father as the others moved back. “I love you so much!”
His body trembling from exertion, he returned the embrace. “I love you too, lass.” On wobbly legs, he stepped back.
Loose strands of hair lashed against Lathir’s face as eyes dark with emotion shifted to Rónán, then Craigshyre. “I thank you both.”
Rónán frowned at the riders making their way up. “The Earl of Ardgar’s men will be here soon.”
Lines of worry on her face, she lay her hand upon her father’s shoulder. “Come.” Her betrothed helped Lathir guide her father onto a steed, where several mounted riders waited. “The knights will take you to Wynshire Castle.”
The man’s face darkened to a fierce scowl. “By God you will ride with me!”
She angled her jaw in a stubborn tilt. “I will stay and fight.”
“B–blast it,” her father snapped, “I—”
“The enemy is nearing the top!” a watch at the ledge called down.
Steel hissed against leather as Craigshyre withdrew his sword. He whirled toward their knights. “Prepare to fight!”
Lathir nodded to the lead guard. “Go!”
The warrior scooped up her father’s reins. With Lord Sionn’s face twisted in pain and frustration, the small contingent cantered into the woods.
The slide of steel against leather hissed as Lathir withdrew her sword. “The Earl of Ardgar will pay for his cruelty.” Eyes burning with fury, she stormed toward where their combined forces were preparing a defense.
Blade in hand, Rónán kept pace. “I understand your anger, but to allow emotion to guide you gives your opponent the edge.”
Cool eyes shifted to him. White knuckles on her hilt relaxed to a degree. “He almost killed my father.”
“He did, but Lord Sionn is alive and free.” Rónán caught her wrist, drew her to a halt.
“Release me!”
“However much you wish to decimate the enemy, our mission to free Lord Sionn is done. If we want to seize the stronghold, to make those who harmed your father pay, with them now having learned that we know a secret way into the castle, we will need to return with at least three times the force. To stay and challenge their attack will do naught but leave many warriors willing to risk their lives to protect you dead.”
The outrage in her eyes faded. “You are right. Though I despise Lord Ardgar for what he has done, the time to confront him will come, but not this day.”
Relief swept Rónán. “Before we depart, we must hold Ardgar’s men back to give your father’s guard time to take him a safe distance away; then we will join him.”
* * * *
The cacophony of blades rang out, melding with the screams of men as the battle raged around Rónán. Another spray of blood streaked his mail as he drove his sword deep into the next aggressor. Breathing hard, he glanced toward Lathir. Pride filled him as she quickly defeated her attacker.
Their having shoved boulders to seal off the incline, along with archers raining arrows on the advancing fighters, were preventing many of the assailants from reaching the top of the cliff. Though the fighting was fierce from those who’d managed to slip past, their tactics were keeping the main force trapped on the road.
With a deft slash, Rónán took
out a charging knight, then glanced around. Enough time had passed. Lord Sionn should be a safe distance away. “We can begin pulling back.”
Sweat mixed with blood on her garb, Lathir downed her next attacker. With a nod, she edged toward the forest.
His mail bloodied, Craigshyre battled two assailants. With impressive skill, he killed the first, whirled to deliver a lethal blow to the second, yelled to their guard to withdraw, then backed toward the woods.
Boulders scraped.
In midstep, Rónán glanced toward the top of the road.
Horses pulling ropes lashed around the large rocks, hauled them aside.
“Charge!” a large Englishman boomed.
Swords raised, their faces masks of violence, a stream of knights flooded Rónán’s view. “The guard have opened the castle road!”
“God’s teeth!” Craigshyre clashed with the next assailant, then continued to move back.
Lathir slashed her attacker across the neck; he collapsed. “We will have to fight our way out.”
Screams of steel and cries of pain rang out over and again as Rónán and the others worked their way into the woods. He searched the violent scene, cursed the number of knights they’d lost.
Craigshyre shouted.
After a final blow to his opponent, Rónán glanced over.
The noble lay sprawled upon the snow, blood streaming from his gut.
“Kieran!” Lathir drove her sword into Craigshyre’s attacker, then raised her weapon as the next foe charged.
Blast it! Rónán bolted over, helped her fend off several guards as her knights surrounded them, creating a barrier between them and the attackers.
Breath coming fast, Lathir knelt beside her betrothed. “Kieran.”
Face ashen, eyes dark with pain, he took in the blood streaming from his wound. “Leave me,” he rasped. “Go before you die.”
Like Hades! Rónán grabbed the reins of a nearby steed, shoved them at Lathir. “Take Lord Craigshyre to Wynshire Castle!”
Her mouth tightened. “I willna leave you.”
“If your betrothed stays here, he will bleed to death.” If the enemy didn’t kill him first, a fact Rónán refused to mention. “Your father needs you as he recovers as well. Nor can you disregard the fact that the arms Lord Sionn holds along with his support, as Craigshyre’s, are imperative to King Robert’s success.”
Snow-laced wind whipped Lathir’s face as she hesitated. “But—”
“I have a plan to hold off the enemy while you escape,” Rónán rushed out as he struggled to devise a way to stall Lord Ardgar’s men. He gestured to several guards before she dug in her heels to stay. “Place Lord Craigshyre on his steed. Lady Lathir will be riding with him.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Go!” Rónán shouted. “I will follow shortly.”
“Swear it!” she demanded.
Well aware, regardless of any plan he invented that would buy him and his men time, ’twould leave little hope for their escape. Rónán nodded. Though she would despise him for never returning, ’twas a small price to pay for her life. “You have my vow.”
Her breathing unsteady, her face strained with worry, for a moment he thought she’d run to him.
Two warriors lifted Lord Craigshyre up on his mount, while another held her steed.
Tears glittered in her eyes. I love you, Rónán, she mouthed.
His heart ached and he longed to confess his love, to hold her, to kiss her, but the time for such luxuries was past. He prayed that if not in love, Lathir would have a good life. With a nod, gusts of wind picking up, Rónán pressed his fingers against his mouth, touched his heart, then stepped back.
Face a mask of grief, she swung up on her destrier. Turning, she dug her heels into her mount and led her betrothed on his steed, along with a significant portion of their force into the dense woods.
Against the increasing wind, Rónán and the remaining men battled their way deep into the forest. Within the trees, Rónán guided his men in tactics learned as a Templar. Strategies designed to stall their foes and allow them to continue to withdraw.
The pounding of waves below echoed like thunder as, with the sun slowly rising in the sky, he kept his small group within the dense forest, but near the cliffs.
The morning passed.
After numerous small skirmishes, the number of guards he led had dwindled to a handful. He took in the sun’s position. By now Lathir, Craigshyre, Lord Sionn, and their contingent were well en route to her home.
Rónán drove his sword into the next aggressor. As the man tumbled down the snow-covered incline, he led his guard along the edge of the cliffs to a dense swath of trees.
He waved them down, motioned for them to crawl deep beneath the tangle of limbs.
Shouts and frustrated curses rang out behind them as the castle guard started hacking their way through the dense thicket.
As he and his men continued working their way beneath the dense weave of branches, the ground angled up, and the limbs overhead gave away to the edge of a crag.
Though steep, the broken rocks littering the face offered a way to climb down to shore and escape. Rónán shoved to his feet, waved his men forward. “Hurry!”
As the last of his guard began descending the steep incline, Rónán sheathed his sword, caught hold of a jagged shard, and took a step down.
The slash of a blade to branches paces away had Rónán glancing up.
Eyes wild, a large warrior charged.
To his left, fury in their eyes, two more knights came into view and rushed in.
Rónán glanced to where his men were making their way down the dangerous cliff. Bedamned. They needed to be farther away to avoid rocks tossed by their enemies.
“Stop him!” the closest man yelled.
Nay, they wouldna win. Body tense, Rónán made the sign of the cross, stepped back up to the snow-laden ground, and withdrew his sword. If he were to die, ’twould be in giving his men a chance to live.
Chapter Fifteen
The fire in the hearth crackled cheerfully, the soft scent of wood and fresh rushes filling the air in her father’s richly adorned chamber. Tension humming through her, Lathir touched his brow as he slept in his large, ornately framed bed.
Cool.
Thank God. A shudder ripped through her at the memory of his right leg in an unnatural position and blood smearing his torn garb in Murchadh Castle’s dungeon. Had they not arrived when they had… She shoved aside the horrific thought. But they had. For that she was thankful.
Though two days had passed, her father, like her betrothed in a room down the corridor, still slept.
Lathir brushed an errant lock from her father’s weathered face, willing him to awaken. However thankful to have brought him and Kieran home, she damned leaving Rónán and a small force behind.
Blast it, where were they?
Nerves twisting in her gut, she shoved to her feet and walked to the hearth. She took in a portrait of her father and mother hanging above. The love in their eyes made her heart ache. She wished the years back, that her mother still lived and her father was well.
A soft groan had her turning.
Pain-filled blue eyes lifted to hers. “Thank God you are alive, lass. I thought ’twas but a dream.”
“Father!” Tears blurred her eyes as she hurried to his side.
His covers tumbled back as he tried to sit up.
On a sniff, she caught the edge of the quilt. “’Tis best if you rest.”
Lines marred his brow as he shoved her hand away. “Help me. I willna lie here like an invalid.”
Frustrated by his stubbornness and aware he wouldn’t change his mind, once she’d aided him to sit, she filled, then handed him a goblet of ale.
He downed the cup after several slow but long swallows.
She set the empty mug on the table. “Nor with your leg broken will you be walking unaided.”
He tried to raise his leg, winced. “Bloody hell. Tell the steward I need a walking stick. Despise the confounded things, but I willna be condemned to this blasted bed.”
His grumbling raised her spirits. He may be injured, but ’twas proof he was well on his way to healing. “Aye.”
“When did I arrive?”
“Two days ago.”
“Kieran, Sir Rónán, and our men?”
Her breath caught, and she glanced toward the window, yearning to hear the tower bell ringing of their arrival. “Kieran arrived with me hours after you. Rónán and the small contingent that remained behind so we could escape havena returned yet.”
Fighting back the worry, in brief, she explained the events that occurred after his capture, of the perilous journey as she and Rónán had sailed the half-burned Aodh ashore, and of how pirates had helped them reach home, where Lord Torridan and his son had awaited them. Then, of Lord Torridan’s having sailed with the pirates to attack the English fleet while she, Rónán, and Kieran had led a combined contingent to free him from Murchadh Castle. Last, of Kieran’s injury and how, when they’d reached a safe distance away, Lord Torridan’s healer, Imag, had cauterized Kieran’s wound, an act that left him unconscious. A godsend in that he hadna stirred for the remainder of their journey to Wynshire Castle.
Her father dragged in a slow breath, exhaled. “’Tis an amazing chain of events. Thank God you are safe, and I pray Craigshyre awakens soon. Once Sir Rónán arrives, I will laud him for his bravery.” Wincing, he pushed his body to a more comfortable position. “And Lord Torridan?”
“We have heard naught from him.” And she prayed Kieran’s father’s forces, as Bran’s, had been successful in driving away the English fleet.
She lifted a basket near the bed packed with several pouches, placed it on a chair. “The healer left herbs to aid with any discomfort once you woke.”
Mouth twisted in a frown, he eyed them as if a curse, then glanced at his leg.
That he hadn’t refused to take them outright assured Lathir he was in pain. She remained silent. He abhorred appearing weak in any way and would despise admitting that he needed even a little.